


Sufficient Force

by byzantienne



Category: Tokyo Babylon
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-30
Updated: 2008-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-04 00:16:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byzantienne/pseuds/byzantienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How to shut Sumeragi Subaru up. (For the <a href="http://mithrigil.livejournal.com/375120.html">Shut Sumeragi Subaru Up!</a> challenge.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sufficient Force

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for violence and Seishirou's sense of aesthetics.

Seishirou will say this for Subaru-kun -- the spirits which get him in trouble are much more dangerous than they used to be.

This one was some sort of vengeful ghost, a persistent afterimage of a salaryman with a discrete pistol under his jacket and a chrysanthemum tattoo just above the bloody cuff of his shirtsleeve. Perhaps he'd had, in life, some small magic of his own, what with how he'd managed to knock some of Subaru's _ofuda_ out of the air with the bullets from that sepulchral gun, and how he'd gotten close enough to him to raise a thin red welt on Subaru's face with its barrel, whipped down his cheek and across his mouth.

While the tracery of blood on that pale skin was, admittedly, very attractive, the aesthetic was entirely spoiled by how it got there.

It takes Seishirou calling his _shiki_ and a not-inconsiderable expenditure of power -- the office goes shadows and wind, white paper flying through the air and falling like petals at Subaru's feet -- to get rid of the thing. When it's done he reaches out and closes his hand on the shoulder of Subaru's coat, pressing down through the white canvas to the flesh underneath, and holds him still. Keeps him from walking away just yet.

"I didn't ask for your help," Subaru hisses.

Seishirou spins him, shoves him into the wall. The white coat flares out just like his own trenchcoat would. Even without Hokuto-chan, Subaru seems to be dressing himself with a certain style. When his chest is flat against the paint, Seishirou gets a better grip on him, fitting the sharp projection of his shoulderblade into his palm and leaning close. He inhales the faint scent of his hair.

"You used to be more appreciative," he says.

"I used to be a lot of things," says Subaru. His breath is rapid. The cut on his cheek is leaving a smudge of red on the wall.

Seishirou laughs. Adjusts the angle of his hand. "Aren't you a little young to be so jaded, Subaru-kun?"

"My age never mattered to you before."

"Mm. No."

When Seishirou pushes, putting his weight into it, the joint of Subaru's shoulder dislocates. He makes a choked noise, spasms between Seishirou's body and the wall.

"Was there something -- something you wanted, Seishirou-san?" he manages. His voice is thick.

"Watching you work is always so edifying," Seishirou murmurs into the back of his neck. The tiny hairs at the base of his scalp are all on end. He's shaking, just a little. Seishirou spiders his fingertips around to the front of his collarbones, crooks them into the hollow right below.

Uses _that_ as leverage to turn him around, so he can look at him properly. See the way he swallows another sound when his shoulder bangs into the wall behind him, how he resolutely refuses to meet Seishirou's eye.

Well, that simply won't do.

The ends of Subaru's hair are rough against his palm, a little slippery where he winds his fingers in them, but Seishirou has plenty of purchase. He wrenches Subaru's head around to face his, enough force that he feels the bones in Subaru's neck grind against each other in protest, his eyes squeezed to slivers with the pain, but there's still no give in him, and he struggles, a hand coming up to claw at Seishirou's temple, knocking his sunglasses away.

In the brighter grey Seishirou watches his narrow chest heave, his ribs pushing against the skin under his shirt like they want to get free. It wouldn't take very much, he muses. To release that panting cage and get to what's underneath it.

Subaru opens his mouth to speak, spit and blood glistening in strings from lip to lip. Seishirou smiles. Leans in close enough to feel the heat of his breath, close enough to catch whatever he might say -- and then presses his lips to his.

Subaru goes stiff, stops gasping. Goes _still_.

Gently, he dissolves his grip on Subaru's hair, cupping his skull in his palm instead. The pad of his thumb comes around, strokes his cheekbone just where his skin is starting to bruise around the cut, smoothing the blood in. Subaru's lips are thin and cracked where they rest against his own. He settles his other hand in the small of Subaru's back, pulls him close, insinuates his tongue into his mouth. Breathes into him, warm and careful.

When he pulls away, Subaru's face is soft, shocked. He's opened his eyes all the way and he's staring at Seishirou with a blankness, a confusion, that looks very good on him. Seishirou notices that he's holding him up, now, a hand on the back of his neck and a hand right above his hips, all his slight weight suspended.

"You look so cute like that, Subaru-kun," he hums.

Subaru doesn't say anything at all.

Seishirou lets him go, _drops_ his hands to his sides and holds him up with only his eye fixed on both of Subaru's. It takes just long enough for that blank disbelief to snap back to terror and rage and -- oh, yes, something else, too, underneath -- just long enough for the legs Subaru hasn't quite grown into yet to buckle and tumble him to his knees.

"Were you going to say something?" Seishirou inquires, polite.

The first sound Subaru makes isn't even a word. The noise matches so _very_ precisely the combination of furious confusion and welling need, more interesting than tears would be. Seishirou ruffles Subaru's hair.

"Maybe you'll remember later," he murmurs, and pulls illusion around himself, so that he can watch.

\---  
.


End file.
